middle to stand on for hemming pants. It came in handy for other things, too. She pointed and I knew to step onto it.
Without a word, she was before me. She was short, and with me on the block, she was directly in front of my crotch.
“C’mon, baby,” she said in her scratchy, smoker’s voice.
I unbuckled my trousers and let them fall to the floor.
She pushed my shirt tails aside and lowered my boxers. My hard-on nearly slapped her face, and she drew back, chuckling with her throaty laugh. She took my dick, her fingers barely able to encircle it, and licked the precum from the tip.
“Tastes so good,” she murmured.
“Yeah?” I glanced back at the dressing room door. “Is the door locked Olga?”
But she couldn’t answer. Her mouth had devoured me so deeply my cock banged the back of her throat.
She released me for a moment, gasping for air. “Mr. Gallagher, I love sucking your cock.”
Well then. To hell with the door.
She got back to work with her customary enthusiasm. I grew closer to exploding and my balls pulled in tight.
I rocked my hips into her face, watching in the room’s floor to ceiling mirrors. I also glanced at my watch. I had a meeting at nine a.m. sharp.
To hurry things along, I grabbled her by the hair and started fucking her face. She finally gagged, her eyes watering thick rivers of black mascara down her face. Her right hand furiously pumped her pussy, and it looked like she might come before me.
She pistoned my cock at breakneck speed.
And kept going.
And going.
Holy shit.
I couldn’t come. Again.
I pulled myself from her mouth before she bit me.
The front door tinkled, and Ivan’s voice boomed through the shop. “Olga! Are you done with Mr. Gallagher?”
You could say we’re done.
I eased myself back into my clothes and pulled up my trousers, leaving Olga in the dressing room to clean herself up.
I ran smack into Ivan as I hustled out the door, my achy balls preventing me from moving as fast as I might have liked to.
“I’ll look forward to getting those shirts, Ivan.”
Back in traffic, I saw I’d missed a couple calls. My admin let me know my first appointment of the day would be late due to a delayed flight. The other voicemail was from Beau, my younger brother.
You never knew what you were going to get with him.
“Var. Dude. Hey, I need a little help with something. I’m kinda broke. Will you call me back?”
Beau sounded drunk, or high, or maybe both. As usual, I would find out what the hell he’d been up to. In the past, it had been gambling debts, or he’d owed drug dealers, or he’d been kicked out of the most recent halfway home where he was staying. Whatever it was, Beau’s life was a far cry from mine of custom-made clothing, sex clubs, and blowjobs in dressing rooms.
Chapter 6
Saffi
Despite my awesome day, the bus home that night was as miserable as it usually was—bumpy, slow, overheated, and smelling of too many humans crammed into too small a space. When I squeezed out at my stop, I took a deep breath of the foggy evening to shake off the stink of a city commute.
“Hey, Dad. I’m home,” I hollered, once inside.
“In here, sweetie.”
Dropping my backpack, I headed for my dad’s office, a gorgeous, masculine room lined with books, leather furniture, and a giant desk. And the faint smell of scotch in the air.
“You have a good day?” he asked, his silver head turning. The slight wrinkles around his blue eyes sprang into action as he smiled. He might have been my dad, but I could say with confidence that he was damn handsome.
How much should I tell him about my project? Everything? Nothing? Or just a little?
On second thought, he didn’t need to know anything.
“It was pretty good, Dad. How was yours?”
He leaned back in his chair and a swell of love thumped in my chest. The man had raised me single-handedly after my mother had passed. No meeting at his busy law firm was ever more important than one of my softball games or dance recitals.
To me, he was everything that was good about the world.
“Day was good,” he said, nodding. “Things are booming at the firm. Knock wood,” he said, rapping his knuckles on the desk. His firm was one of the largest in San Francisco, but he took nothing for granted. “How are things at the paper?”
I leaned forward, forearms on thighs, hands